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Who is this sassy lost child
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Even if Cris himself hadn't been instantly recognizable, the car certainly would have been. The fire-engine red Cadillac convertible was Cris's baby, lovingly restored by him and a couple relatives in a tribute to all things 50s. Except, you know, the systematic racism, and how women were barely accepted in the work force, and the lingering shell-shock from World War II and the Holocaust, and the Cold War, and the impending unrest that would lead to the Vietnam War...

Raina just didn't understand how Cris could think the world seeming to fall apart was some kind of new thing. If anything, humanity was finally taking the first few steps to stitching everything back together.

She returned his wave, even though it felt a little silly when she was sitting right here and he was walking in towards her. She smiled when he got close enough, and it didn't feel forced.

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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